"Shut up....," cried the muffled voice from under the blankets. "If I have to get up, I am sooo not gonna be impressed! God only knows I just fell asleep two hours ago!" The young man beneath the covers tried to block out the laughter coming from downstairs with his pillow. It didn't help much. He grunted, ripped it off his face, and proceeded to throw it across the room. His harsh actions were rewarded by a loud crash as the projectile hit the lamp on the dresser, fell to the hardwood floor, and smashed into a million little pieces. "Fuck..."
He heard his mother's voice from the stairs. "Ben? What was that? What did you do? Are you awake? Honey, it's almost 2 in the afternoon! Why aren't you out of bed? When did you get in? How did you get home? Who were you with? Have you been drinking? Are you hung over? What's--"
"MUM!! That was the lamp. I threw my bloody pillow at it. No, I'm not awake. I know it's 2 in the afternoon. I'm not out of bed because I'm sick. I got in about three hours ago. I don't remember how I got here. I was with Daniel. Yes, I have been drinking. And YES, I am hung over. That is the reason I am still in bed at 2 in the afternoon. Any more questions?" he replied rather sarastically.
"There's no need to be rude, Ben. And I suggest you pop a Tylenol and get out of bed, because John is here to talk to you. Something about choosing support bands for the next tour. Daniel and Chris are going to be here in--" She looked at her watch. "About 5 minutes. So get up, get dressed, and be downstairs in 4 and a half minutes."
"Yes mother!" He said in an overly-sweet sing-song voice. After Ben had heard her retreat back to the kitchen, he thought to himself, "God, I'm 17 years old! I really don't need her to be telling me what to do every moment of my life! Pisses me off... Fuck I'm tired.... maybe all I need is a shower. Yeah, I'm all grungy from last night... What the hell did Johnsy and I do last night, anyways? I couldn't remember to save myself! I must ask him...," He made an obvious effort to roll on his side and onto the floor. "My head hurts...," he muttered as he crawled into the bathroom. He grabbed the countertop, pulled himself up off the white tile floor, and took a long, hard look in the mirror.
"AHHHHHHH!!!!!!" The scream arose from the second floor. Annette Gillies and John Watson looked at each other with shock, confusion, and maybe even a little fear in their eyes, put their cups of fresh coffee down on the table, and bolted up the stairs.
"So, what did you two do last night?" Chris asked his friend, with a smile and just a hint of amusment in his voice.
"Honestly, dude, I couldn't tell you. I just don't remember! Maybe you should have blew off Jaimie and came with us. You could have been the "let's-remember-what-happens-tonight-so we'll-have-an-excuse-to-why-we're-so-fucked-up-tomorrow-morning" guy!" He thought for a second. "No, on second thought, ditching Jaimie to go drinking is not a good idea. The woman can get right bitchy at times!" Daniel laughed. "No offense!"
"None taken! Anyways, you honestly can't remember what happened?"
"Honest to God! I must pose that there question to dear Benjamin when he decides to drag his lazy arse outta bed today. He's such a baby when it comes to being hungover!" Daniel shook his head.
"I know! If he's sick the day after a drinking spree, he'll let everyone in the country know about it, and then complain about how ill he is so everyone will feel bad for his sorry arse and tend to his every need while he lies in bed all day!" Chris laughed.
"What a dick!" giggled Daniel. "At least I'm mobile today! And I drank just as much as he did!"
The boys pulled into the Gillies' driveway. As they were nearing the front door, a glass - shattering shriek echoed out of the open upstairs bathroom window. Both boys stopped dead in their tracks and looked at each other.
"What the hell was THAT?!" cried Chris.
"That didn't come from the house, did it?"
"I think it did."
"Oh shit..."
"Holy fuck!" screamed a voice from up above. Chris and Daniel looked up to see the half-angry, half-confused face of their manager.
"Watson! What the fuck's going on?" yelled Chris.
Watson ignored the question, and screamed back down at the boys, "WHERE THE HELL IS BEN'S HAIR!?"
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